


someone to bring him to task

by riverbed



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blow Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-20 03:25:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7388617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverbed/pseuds/riverbed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Annoying Madison was as satisfying as he’d always imagined it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	someone to bring him to task

**Author's Note:**

  * For [halleycomets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halleycomets/gifts).
  * Inspired by [sick after writing five](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6871357) by [halleycomets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/halleycomets/pseuds/halleycomets). 



> lmao here's some crack, a companion piece to jordan's brilliant piece of documentary starring harrison ford john jay as the center of hamilton's attentions
> 
> as i've said, it's not my fault alexander is a dick fiend. happy fourth of july!

Hamilton tapped his pen against his jiggling thigh. He felt as if he was bursting at the seams; being cooped up in this office with only Madison was starting to get to him. The man barely spoke, and he didn’t seem as easily provoked as Jay had been; all of Hamilton’s fidgeting and loud sighs and he hadn’t so much as glanced in his direction. Hamilton studied him, seated comfortably on the other side of Washington’s massive desk, his shoulders rolled back, grasping his pen elegantly, gliding it across the stationery he was writing on.

“Who writes letters anymore?” Hamilton spat, no longer able to focus on his own notes. The frustration had been bubbling up inside him and he had to let it boil over; he was desperate for some damn attention. At least in the brief interim between Madison joining their team and Jay falling ill there had been a glimmer of fun to be had, the tension between the two men palpable, and Alexander could play off of that, provoking Jay to bother Madison. Hamilton himself didn’t seem to be able to get under Madison’s skin, and he supposed James was perturbed by Jay’s more senior status, his established role and well-earned respect. He knew that beneath Madison’s carefully poised decorum there was deep ambition, a desire hungry and hot; he knew it because he saw himself in Madison, like looking in a mirror. He wasn’t fooling Alex.

But now, he just made a noncommittal noise, still not looking up, his pen still scratching, without pause, across the paper.

Alexander huffed, dragged the pads of his fingers across the green velvet inset surface of the desk, then trailed his hand down to the cherry-wood leg and grasped it, trying to steady his nerves. He hadn’t eaten all day and felt kind of dizzy even sitting down; the rain beat heavily on the window behind Madison, and Hamilton rose to shut the blinds.

“Do you have a problem with natural light?” Madison said, sounding… ah. Slightly annoyed. Still facing the window, he let a smile spread across his face.

“In case you haven’t noticed, it’s pouring out. There’s no light in the sky from here to Baltimore.” Hamilton crossed to the couch and rummaged around his messenger bag for his granola, which he poured directly from the Ziploc into his mouth. He looked up, chewing, to find Madison staring at him, his nose wrinkled slightly in disgust. “Barbaric,” he muttered, mostly to himself, and shook his head and went back to writing.

Hamilton grinned and brushed a chunk of granola off his shirt. He went back to the desk, slumped heavily in the chair with his arms at his sides. Madison didn’t look at him, but he still seemed to be muttering under his breath as he wrote, and Hamilton found himself wondering why indeed he was writing a letter.

He got up and came around to James’ side of the desk again, leaning down over his shoulder. This did get Madison to pause, and he hovered his pen above the paper. Alexander could feel the rage coming off in heatwaves from his body. He bit down on a lingering piece of granola right in James’ ear, and James threw his hands up, tossing his pen to the table. The glare he trained on Hamilton when he turned in his chair to face him was admittedly intimidating, but Alexander held his ground, kept grinning with his tongue in his cheek right in James’ face.

“Is it  _ possible," _ Madison hissed, doing up his top button unnecessarily, “for you to be less annoying, Hamilton?”

Alex leaned hard on the desk, cocking his hip out and crossing his arms over his chest. “Sorry,” he said, not an ounce of apology lacing his voice, “I just wanted to know what you were writing.”

Madison’s eyes did not change; his lip did not curl up from the straight line it made as he said, “I’m writing to Washington to request you be reassigned.”

Alexander clicked his tongue. “Even Washington has a phone now, James.” He hopped up and sat on the desk, and Madison’s eyes could have burned a hole in him where he stared. “You’re also in his office, and he’s like, one floor up, in Jefferson’s.”

“You really do think you’re clever, don’t you?” Madison said, and his voice sounded less biting than he’d probably meant it to; his tone was one of resignation, of defeat. Hamilton smiled again and spread his thighs a few inches farther apart. Annoying Madison was as satisfying as he’d always imagined it would be. He looked James up and down, studied the way his brows knit together, and felt his blood stir with possibility. James was desperately trying to push down the urge to tell him to get off the desk. Though he thought he was a void where a man should be, mysterious in his silence, Hamilton could read him like a book. They were, after all, similar, as much as each of them would profusely deny it. Hamilton’s fuse simply lit closer to the surface.

Madison seemed to make a decision, coughed and tried to turn back to his work, but Alexander’s thigh was covering half of his letter. Alex looked down at it and sighed, an affect of relaxation, leaned back and spread his palms on the desk, sprawling even wider, taking up more of the desk. Madison put an elbow up on the surface and rubbed his temple with it, then he rested his forehead there. He was most certainly not in the mood. Alexander was. He undid his tie, and it was only when he dropped it beside him that Madison looked up at him.

“What are you doing?” His eyes were narrowed slightly, but his cheeks were flushed over his dark skin, the slightest tinge of amber.

Hamilton undid his top two buttons and separated the collar of his shirt. “Taking a break,” he said, casually. He nudged Madison’s shoulder with his knee. “Join me. We’ve been working since eight.”

“This is  _ Washington’s office,” _ James sputtered emphatically, but his protests were weak and he knew it. Even as he said it his hand came up to Hamilton’s thigh, squeezing the muscle. Hamilton felt himself twitch and he reached over to push Madison’s hair back, the close crop having grown out over the month or so they’d been working together. He reached down lower to undo the button-up James had just made even more pristine, pulling perhaps a bit too hard, secretly hoping he could pass off a popped button or two as simple enthusiasm. James could do to get a bit messed up, a little disheveled. Hamilton believed wholeheartedly in dishevelment.

Madison’s blush continued down his neck to his chest as Hamilton exposed it, and he ran his hand across it, appreciating the broadly toned muscle. “Come here,” he said roughly, carding his fingers again through James’ hair and tugging gently. James scooted the chair over with his feet to be more centered in front of him, and the legs dragged loudly across the floor. Washington would not be pleased if they fucked up his hardwood. Hamilton smiled at the thought; a snap of Washington’s temper was rare but appreciated. He’d gotten off on many an evening to the thought of Washington making good on his threats to bend him over this very desk.

Hamilton unzipped, shoved his briefs down, adjusted his hold on Madison’s hair so it was firmer. He lay back on the desk, his head lolling off the other side, guided James’ head up his lap until he felt the press of his open lips against the side of his dick. He craned his neck to look down at James just in time to see his tongue dart out and taste him, flicking against the underside of his crown, and Hamilton moaned, wetness, heat, sensation. He shivered in his shirtsleeves, his khakis. His dick got harder by the second, all his blood rushing eagerly to his groin. James lapped at him quietly, dutifully, but Hamilton was tired of it, wanted a reaction from him. He yanked sharply at Madison’s short hair, pulling him up and bucking his hips to sink into his mouth, and the noise of surprise he made was sweet, vibrating along the length of him and into his core.

Alexander worked his hips slow, letting James get used to the intrusion, open his throat. He held onto his control for as long as he could before he let himself thrust more meaningfully, rocking against James’ protesting tongue before he hit his throat each time, the texture at the back of his tongue making him grind against it.

Alexander cursed when he came, he always did, like a highly specific form of Tourette’s, a release of frustration. An utter and complete relief. James swallowed but looked pained about it, and Hamilton sat up and kissed him in sympathy. “Thanks,” he breathed, against his lips, as Madison did up his fly and rebuckled his belt for him.

“You won’t get me to say ‘Anytime,’” James said, but Hamilton caught the quirk at the corner of his mouth before James shoved him bodily off the desk.

**Author's Note:**

> you can comment on this, if u want.  
> scream at me.


End file.
